DEIMOS
Had there been more time, more breathing space, more room, more than just rushing and panic, he and Remi might’ve shared the stoic appreciation of hybrid mentalities, the blend of magic and beast – but there wasn’t. It could come later, after everything, when they had spare instances and seconds, when every moment wasn’t critical or collateral damage.
Amalia’s appreciation and Remi’s silence are intriguing things – he goes for more of the latter, a pattern even when his notions could be shared across inaudible bonds, a solemn nod, a bout of solemn entreaties, the simplest, merest gust of composure and calm sent to the baker/otter. Then he applied to following her direction, grabbing hold of the rose in his talons, hastening towards some portion of the damned hellhole that was somewhat shielded.
He hated every aspect of this place – nothing good coming of it, demonstrations of demolition and disaster, near deaths, actual deaths, plagues upon houses and wards. It was odd, to think the gilded flowers could take root here, in the midst of so much corruption and condemnation (shouldn’t he have felt at home, instead of an adversarial stance?).
His talons dug into the snow, sifting it away, digging into the soil by the entrance to the basement, beneath ruined overhangs and beside fallen columns, intending to tuck it under the pillars, out of sight, out of mind, permitted to grow and bloom further without hindrance.
--
Deimos tries to plant his rose near the basement entrance!
Amalia’s appreciation and Remi’s silence are intriguing things – he goes for more of the latter, a pattern even when his notions could be shared across inaudible bonds, a solemn nod, a bout of solemn entreaties, the simplest, merest gust of composure and calm sent to the baker/otter. Then he applied to following her direction, grabbing hold of the rose in his talons, hastening towards some portion of the damned hellhole that was somewhat shielded.
He hated every aspect of this place – nothing good coming of it, demonstrations of demolition and disaster, near deaths, actual deaths, plagues upon houses and wards. It was odd, to think the gilded flowers could take root here, in the midst of so much corruption and condemnation (shouldn’t he have felt at home, instead of an adversarial stance?).
His talons dug into the snow, sifting it away, digging into the soil by the entrance to the basement, beneath ruined overhangs and beside fallen columns, intending to tuck it under the pillars, out of sight, out of mind, permitted to grow and bloom further without hindrance.
--
Deimos tries to plant his rose near the basement entrance!
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
